


nameless

by tyche (marzipan_bubbles)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Gen, me making a tag for azem?? more likely than u think, not @ me for saying i'd never write emet/wol and then i wrote emet/wol, patch 5.3 do be messing people up like that, spoilers for patch 5.3, yearning and heartbreak abound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:07:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26204677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marzipan_bubbles/pseuds/tyche
Summary: you have lived a thousand thousand lives, but at the end you are still the same boy who fell in love with her under the moonlight.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Azem, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Azem, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 17
Kudos: 55





	nameless

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for the end of shadowbringers and patch 5.3!

Your name is Hades, and you are just a boy when you fall in love for the first time.

She is standing in the ocean waves, clutching her robes to her chest. Tiny little turtles waddle from the sandy shore into the dark abyss of the sea, floating with the current around her ankles.

“Just think, Hades,” she says, kneeling down to peer at the infant turtles. “So many lives, traveling out to explore the world. Isn’t it exciting?”

“Exciting?” you echo, unsure if you agree. “The world is so big, and we’re just children. Doesn’t the thought of the unknown scare you?” The ocean, pitch black and endless, roars back, as if it hears the trepidation in your voice.

“Of course,” she says, and when she turns to you the moon shines through her eyes, refracting into a hundred shards of light across her cheeks. “Of course I’m scared. But that’s why I want to go and see it all, someday. It’s only unknown if we never seek to know it.”

Profound words from such a young soul - and the moment is broken by the crash of a wave that sends sea spray into her face. She shrieks in surprised joy, and you watch as she flounders in the water with hearty laughter.

(Your breath catches in your throat, and you’re not sure you understand why your chest feels so tight, but as she laughs in the waves you think that you’ve never heard anything so beautiful.)

\--

Your name is Hades, and you have just become a different man.

“Hades!” 

You turn away from the Convocation members - your new peers - and try not to smile too big as she floats across the room towards you. “I wondered where you’d drifted off to,” you call out, striding to meet her halfway. Behind you, there are soft whispers, amused chuckles, as the Convocation disperses into the greater crowd - but you pay them no mind.

“I certainly tried to find you, but you were swept up by someone else every time I got close,” she laughs, beaming. She reaches out and takes your hands in hers, and you feel your heart stop. “Congratulations! I _told_ you that you’d make the Convocation one day.”

Ordinarily you’d smirk and agree with her - but as she looks up at you, kaleidoscope eyes peeking through her mask, your arrogance withers and you find yourself content to do nothing more than bask in her praise, her confidence in _you._

“I’m thankful to have had your support,” you say stiffly, failing utterly to convey the gratitude you feel. “Someday you’ll be on the Convocation with me, too.”

She snorts, but squeezes your hands gently. “I don’t need to be.” 

“You’re still going?” you ask in surprise, unable to hide some of the disappointment in your voice. 

“I always said I would,” she tells you, and she squeezes your hands once more. “But you needn’t worry. I’ll come back, and I’ll have so many stories to tell you.”

There are too many things you want to say, and not enough time to say any of them. So you smile and say, “Very well. Safe travels, my friend.”

(It takes all of your willpower to not beg her to stay, and as she slips from your grasp you wish you’d said “I’ll be waiting for you”, too.)

\--

Your name is Emet-Selch, and you feel the weight of the world upon your shoulders.

Her steps through the grass rouse you from your thoughts. Though your eyes are closed, you hear her settle beside you on the ground. “Brooding again?”

You crack one eye open and frown. “I’m not brooding. Unless you think the world’s impending doom isn’t worth the extra thought?”

She looks down at you, before slipping off her mask - her new Convocation mask, marking her status as Azem. Her crystalline eyes are full of worry. “You spend too much time alone and upset. No one could solve a problem, much less the fate of the world, in such a way.”

With a sigh, you push yourself up and face her. “Well, what would _you_ have me do?” 

Her back straightens, and she leans close to you. “Come _with_ me,” she says earnestly, and you’re lost in her prismatic gaze. “Come travel the world with me. There’s so much to see - there’s bound to be something out there that will help you.”

It’s a touching sentiment - but nothing more. Your place is here, in Amaurot, as the guiding hand of your people. You offer her a tired smile. “Surely if there was a solution in the wider world, you would have found it already.” 

“My mind is hardly as acute as yours,” she replies, and she pulls back. You know she’s heard the rejection in your words, and though you find relief in her acquiescence, her withdrawal still stings. “Perhaps if you were to see something with your own eyes, you might find inspiration.”

Her compliment soothes some of the ache in your heart, so you tell her, “Your faith in me is inspiring enough.”

(In another world, you would have said yes, because deep down, you long for her to whisk you away, to show you the world - to set you free.)

\--

Your name is Emet-Selch, and you have lost everything there ever was to lose.

As you wander through the rubble of what used to be your home, you’re not sure if it’s possible for a man to lose anything more. Every being, every soul - splintered beyond repair, halved again and again, into pitiful shadows of the majestic creatures they once were.

Every being. Every soul.

Save yourself, of course; yourself, and Lahabrea, and Elidibus. The three of you now comprise the final remnants of what was the greatest people to ever walk the land.

“Architect,” says the Abyssal Celebrant, emerging from the ruins of the Capital. He is pale-faced, haggard, and you see in the lines of his body the same deep, deep horror you feel in your own.

“No one?” you rasp, even though you know the answer. You have _known_ the answer.

He shakes his head; you close your eyes and swallow down a sob, a scream. 

(She had been there, to warn everyone, to warn _you_ \- and you turned her away like a fool, bitter and hurt and blind. That is all you will ever be, now and forever: a fool, who missed and missed and missed his chances, and will never have another chance again.)

\--

Your name is… you aren’t sure what your name is, anymore.

What life is this, your eighth? Your fifteenth? You can’t keep track anymore. These lives, all too brief and empty, somehow manage to blur together into a mass of nothingness, but you must persist.

Zodiark demands it. 

Perhaps you are a lord - perhaps you are a peasant. Perhaps you are ruling an empire, pretending to care about the ants who mill about this world and believe bloodshed to be their birthright. 

You _tried_ \- heavens know you tried. You tried so very hard, in the beginning, to let go of the past, to live and love and die among the newfound stewards of this star, these _stars._ You gave it your all, gave _them_ your all, and still they failed you. 

You will not be failed again. 

So you tread through these broken shards, silent and deadly, seeking your fallen comrades spread thin across fourteen planes. Igeyorhm, Naibrales, Mitron and Loghrif. Viciously as you work to tear down the walls between worlds and return the Source to its true self, just as tenderly do you press each crystal to the hand of its bearer and restore their memories, their minds.

It breaks your heart to see their faces when they begin to understand their reality, what happened to their home. Ten times do you restore an ally, and ten times must you witness that heartbreak - your heartbreak - all over again.

(Alone, you shut your eyes and imagine finding her. When you find her, when you press the crystal you made for her into her palm, you pray that she will take peace in your presence, that you will not have to watch her heart shatter as well.)

\-- 

Your name is about to disappear, and you are there to watch Azem die.

It isn’t her, not really - but you know that color and would know it anywhere, despite being muted and dulled by the Sundering. Millenia since you have seen it, but it is etched into your heart with clarity nonetheless.

You see her color first, in the gaggle of souls who think they will escape the doom of the Third Shard. At first you think it might be a figment of your imagination, a ripple in the magic which makes you invisible to the untrained eye.

But it flashes by again, and again, and you are too weak to resist this chance to finally see her again. Like a moth to a flame, you let yourself be drawn to her color, pushing aside everything in your way to make it to her in time.

Time, after all, is dwindling - if not for you, then for her, and whose fault is that?

When you catch up to her shade, the ground is falling away at her feet, and she clutches to the side of a cliff wall with all the strength left in her body. Slowly, painfully, you let your magics slip away, revealing yourself with silence - a contrast to the howling of the earth around you.

The shade takes you in with wide eyes - eyes that are not right, not like hers. Violet, round, and afraid - not like hers. 

Azem’s crystal is heavy in your pocket. 

“Do I know you?” says the shard, and you are taken aback. You had expected a plea for help, a prayer for salvation. 

You are not ready for the hand the shard reaches out to you, and like always, you miss your chance as the cliff fails her and she falls to her death far below.

(Nobody will ever know, but you search the Lifestream for her after, even though you know it will be in vain. She is gone, and you hate yourself for wishing she wasn’t. You vow that you will never look for her again.)

\--

Your name is Solus zos Galvus, and you are bored.

“A toast, to Varis yae Galvus!” rings out through the dining hall, followed by a chorus of voices repeating, “To Varis!” 

Boring. So very boring. A wedding for your grandsire, High Legatus Varis. As Emperor, it is your duty to attend such events, put on a show to bolster morale - but you despise it. There is nothing left worth celebrating in this world, you think.

The groom, your grandsire, rises from his seat, tall and imposing, so much like your son. Your pitiful dead son. You watch him lift his own glass, hear his voice booming through the hall, as he mechanically thanks the attendees for their blessings.

“How wretched,” you mutter under your breath, before wheezing as you push yourself into a better sitting position. The body you inhabit has cursed you with old age, feeble and decaying just like the rest of the sad remnants who surround you, and you long for a time when you may finally be free of it, to walk the world in youthful flesh.

At the sound of your fussing, all eyes in the room break from your grandsire and fixate on you, and you take small amusement in watching the bravado slip from your grandsire’s grasp. 

Then his bride turns to look at you as well, with crystals glinting in her hair, and they reflect light in a way that makes you say “Pah!” and hobble your way out of the hall.

(Thrice cursed, in one night - to suffer through your own emotional failure, to sit through it all in an ailing body, and to be reminded of a love you will never see again.)

\--

Your name is Emet-Selch, and your companions are useless.

Useless, you call them, though you tell yourself it’s well-meant. No matter how much you feud with them or gnash your teeth in frustration at them, deep down you love them. You can never say it, though - it lies in a box which cannot be opened, else other forbidden things come tumbling out.

But of course they would be useless when it comes to Hydaelyn’s champion - and suddenly, as you gaze upon the shard that people hail as “hero”, you are thankful that you locked away your love so long ago.

For who among them could turn on _her_ shade?

Lahabrea tried, and failed twice. Naibrales lost, blinded by righteous fury and hate. Igeyorhm, too, silenced forever.

It’s cruel, but - you note with bitterness - cruelty seems to be your reality forevermore. Hydaelyn has chosen _her,_ has chosen what’s left of her, pitted her remains against you in a grand cosmic match that, were you not utterly dedicated to your cause, is tragic enough that you would lay down your arms to weep.

You hate this shard.

(When you meet the shard for the first time, really _meet_ her, her eyes are white - and they are too close to _hers_ and yet not near enough anyways. White though they may be, they lack the fleeting colors which danced within - and every time you meet the shard after, you tell yourself to look into her eyes to draw strength from what she lacks.)

\--

Your name is Hades, and you are finally free.

Though you have died a thousand thousand times, this is the first death that you really feel. It burns, it’s agonizing, and yet you have never felt so at peace.

She faces you - and it feels so good to finally, finally stop denying that it is her. To stop _needing_ it to be her. 

Remarkable, you think, that this life of hers is the one which ends yours. Dark hair, and white eyes, passion etched in every line of her face.

She is as beautiful as the day you lost her, and to admit it makes you weep.

“Remember us,” you tell her, at the edge of the world where your heart breaks and heals at the same time. “Remember that we lived.”

Silence, and though you know you are at peace for a moment your soul wrenches in agony. Maybe it is too late - maybe you have pushed her too far. And here, at the end, you must admit that you have. 

Irony is ever so cruel - reunited at last, finished at last, and you are going to die in front of the one you love, in a body she hates because you made her hate it.

But she isn’t - she isn’t cruel.

“I will remember,” she says, surprising you like always. “I promise I will remember.”

(You fill your last moments with the memory of her eyes: they are no longer pure white, you realize, but now have the faintest hint of a rainbow at the edges, a gift of her impromptu rejoining. You think back to a night on the beach where the moonlight turned her gaze into diamonds and smile.)

\--

Your name doesn’t matter, but she calls it anyway.

“Emet-Selch!” her voice beckons you, and you stir in the Lifestream. “Hades!”

(She needs you, and as you feel yourself pulled towards her warmth, you think that you’ve never heard anything so beautiful.)

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i hope you liked this piece!
> 
> it's a bit of a departure from my usual style, and when i got the idea i told myself i needed to take a personal risk and just Do It, but i'm happy to present you all with a piece i swore i would never write (and then did)
> 
> just some musing on it: i don't really ship emet/hallura (my wol) because hallura Would Literally Never, but ever since 5.3 i've had STRONG FEELINGS about how emet clearly cares for the 14th. i am of the mind that emet loved the 14th (who is depicted here loosely as my amaurotine version of hallura, tyche), but hated himself for almost loving all of the shards of her that came after. and after a conversation with a friend about emet's complicated feelings i had an unbearable need to write this all out LOL
> 
> i also,,, have a really hard time shipping hades/tyche because for me the only one tyche could have loved would be poseidon (who i also write about); so to make things even more tragic this was written with the mindset that emet's feelings are unrequited, even though tyche cared/cares for him very much. i'm not sure why i did - i think i like the ambiguity that poseidon could have possibly fit into the story, i'm really not sure; or maybe i'm just a sucker for pain and unrequited feelings fics give me pure dopamine
> 
> so basically it boils down to me being boo boo de fool and not being ready to get slammed by emet feels circa 5.3, and now in an attempt to tame them i give you all this. i hope you enjoyed! if you wanna chat about my writing hit me up in the comments, or say hi on tumblr! https://alamhigyoooo.tumblr.com/
> 
> OH AND BEFORE I FORGET here's a link to tyche's eyes, if you're struggling to visualize what they're meant to look like! https://alamhigyoooo.tumblr.com/post/614715332445241344/a-commission-i-got-from-my-friend-isa-of-some


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